Safari 2012 Journal Entries: Day 12 – Friday, July 27th, 2012 Heading Home (part 2)

by david on October 6, 2012

We have two stops to make.  The first is Joe’s Beer Garden for some t-shirts.  The Taylors (the family here before me) had dinner there and their daughter had decided she wanted one of their t-shirts.  The idea appealed to me as I thought that would be something cool to bring home to my college-age daughters.  We drove right up and promptly found out the gift shop had closed and was no more.  The place had just changed hands and the new owners had decided that a gift shop was a waste of space and wanted it gone. 

            With that plan blown out of the water, Johann asked if he could stop at the bank while he showed me another place to shop for possible souvenirs.  That sounded fine by me, and off we went.  The place he showed me was really cool.  It specializes in authentic aboriginal tools and art.  I needed a small piece to complete a small African display at home and this might just fit the bill.  This place was really cool and it has a little bit of everything.  I could choose from artwork, jewelry, musical instruments, masks, cooking utensils, and, best of all, hunting equipment.  I decided on two arrows that had actually been used by the San to hunt with.  When I showed them to Johann before I bought them, he told me to be careful because, even though they had been cleaned, the tips more than likely still had curare on them.  Too cool, I thought to myself.  These will be perfect.  I almost feel guilty as I watch the salesclerk carefully wrap up my purchase, but I keep my mouth shut and let her do her job.  I know that within a five-minute walk to the truck I’ll have to unwrap them and put them in my rifle case for safekeeping.  I hope I can do so without cutting myself on one of the arrowheads.

            With the last of the shopping done, we head back to the truck for the 45-minute ride to the airport.  A million things are running through my mind.  Are my travel plans still intact?  When will I get to come back?  Will my luggage make it?  When will I get to come back?  And so it goes — my mind is asking itself questions and then coming up with answers.  Suddenly, a sly grin comes to my face as I realize I have been asking myself “when”, and not “if”, I can come back.

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